The Man with the Dark Hair
by HeiHeiTstesetyun
Summary: Human memory was ephemeral enough, but even more so for veteran Tino, whose mental capacity declined after an ill fated explosion. But some memories linger, and always will- if only for care-giver Alexianos. Mentions of past ArmFin; Post-Winter War.


A/N: Just a quick note- the language in this story will be simplistic and sometimes repetitive due to Tino's mental condition. Also, it might be good to imagine him speaking with pauses between phrases. It'll make for a better image. :) Please enjoy!

"Tino," the dark-haired man directed my attention back to the language cards in front of us- cards I could read if only my mind worked properly. Nothing worked properly- not after the explosion.

I smiled to myself. I liked the dark-haired man. I'd always liked physics. And I liked explosions. If a railroad track ran from Helsinki to the Soviet Union, I had no trouble with blowing it up when nobody else was in sight. After all, what did we need connections to Leningrad for? I never hurt anybody, mind you.

"Please, Tino," he repeated as my digression tailed off, his dark eyes weary. I liked the dark-haired man, but he was always sad. I never understood his Finnish, though I could never really understand most of what people said, anyway. Still, he was different.

"I…" my throat ran dry. Damn, was it hard to talk! Thinking was already a struggle, but articulating myself even more so. "Okay. I read the cards?" I didn't want to read the cards- they were stupid and probably only designed to keep me from forgetting Finnish altogether.

"Yes." The dark-haired man smiled at me, but still he was sad. It was not befitting of a man like him. He had an air of intelligence that would have made him an excellent war hero or spy- possibly one of the best in Finland. He looked smart. Did I already think that? Ah, well…

I glanced up at him and grinned, feeling rather willful. I knew that this man lived with me- I knew he was my care giver- but I couldn't understand much else about him. I wish I knew his name; he must have told it to me a thousand times. Damned if I could remember it, I would. I liked the dark-haired man.

"I'm tired of language practice. Let's talk. Tell me about your day,…?"

"Alexianos." He smiled sadly. It really must have been the thousandth time he told me that. The thousand-and-first. That must be why it sounded so familiar.

"You're not Finnish, are you? I like you better, then, Alexianos." I winked at him in jest, "It must be why we never fight."

"Do you remember where I am from, Tino?"

"I said the wrong country one day and you gave me a weird look; like this:" I raised the inner corners of my eyebrows, "I told you that you were Turkish, I think."

Alexianos laughed. "I'm not Turkish, Tino. I'm Armenian."

"I always liked Armenians. Saroyan is a good guy."

"Yes, he is. Anyhow, my day has been pleasant- has Elizaveta treated you well today while I was gone?"

"Joo, of course. But that's boring to talk about. Tell me about your work."

"My work is boring, Tino." Alexianos smiled, but this time, it wasn't sad. It made me like him even more. "You are the most interesting part of my day."

I blushed at the compliment. I _really_ liked Alexianos.

And I guess I wasn't afraid to say it. "I like you," I blurted, looking him evenly in the eyes. It wasn't weird- we were the same age, if I was remembering my birthday correctly. I was thirty and so was he. Was that right? Yes, I was thirty. The war ended five years ago. "I used to not be slow. Before the explosion, I had a boyfriend."

If I'd made Alexianos uncomfortable, he didn't seem to express it. I must have been the raconteur for this story before.

"Tell me about him," he said quietly.

"Ah, he was real nice. We met at the resistance meetings every week. He was a physicist, too. We would go out in the wild and blow up railroad tracks together. It was great fun. I wish I could remember his name, though…"

"Don't trouble yourself."

"It's not a trouble; I like thinking about him. I have dreams about him sometimes. He must have left me after the explosion. Or maybe he died. That would have been truly horrible- I'm glad I don't have to know. I like to think that he just left me."

Alexianos nodded. He was sad again.

"I don't mean to make you feel bad. I can stop."

"You aren't. Let's turn this into an exercise; can you describe him to me?" Alexianos leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wooden table.

"He had a big mess of black hair on his head, and one cowlick that would never go straight. Kind of like yours, actually! Are you sure you're okay with me talking about this? You being a guy and all-"

"It's okay. I have no prejudices against that." He blushed and set his mug of coffee onto the stained wood, staring into the black-and-cream swirls. Now he didn't seem sad. But why was he embarrassed?

"Well, okay then. He wasn't Finnish- he was a foreigner, but I loved him. He had these brown eyes that looked like they were rimmed in black, and his skin was tan and warm. Not like mine. He used to tell me that I'd get lost in the snow without a badge to differentiate myself. He had one cowlick that would never go straight. Did I say that already?"

Alexianos nodded, but he also offered a small smile. He seemed unusually happy in that moment.

"One day I proposed to him. I told him I wanted to marry him, and he agreed to it. That was right before the accident. I wonder if he's with someone else now…I really hope they appreciate him. He was a good man. He was so smart that he could estimate the speed of a train just by watching it. He always beat me at chess. Do you like chess, Alexianos?"

My question caught him off guard. "I…yes, I do."

"That's good. You Armenians are real clever at chess. We Finns are, too, but you guys are even more so. I think my ex-boyfriend was an Armenian."

Now Alexianos wasn't sad or embarrassed. He scratched at the hair behind his neck. He looked uneasy, and I liked him better when he smiled. I still liked him, though.

"Why do you think that?" His voice was always so smooth. I shivered- it was so similar to…

"I can't really remember. The only thing I know is that he had these blue eye-beads that he always wore on his wrist. Nazars! They're called nazars. Armenians wear those, right?"

"Yes, but so do Turks and many others."

"Nah, he wasn't Turkish. This guy was Christian. And besides, he had an Armenian last name. Kyrgian? Koozian? Or maybe it was a Finnish name like Koutinonen, and I just mistook the poor man! No, but he was definitely Armenian. I can tell."

He laughed, though not mockingly. "I don't think anyone can tell without proof, Tino."

"Well, what is your last name, Alexianos?"

He started for a moment, and his face was pale. "Kirzigian," was his quiet response.

"Kirzigian? That's a nice name. He had a good name like Kirzigian."

"I'm sure he had a wonderful name."

"-in fact, I think it _was_ Kirzigian! Is that a common surname in Armenia?"

"It's not. I don't think that was his last name-"

"No, you're right. It must not have been." I sighed, leaning back into my chair.

"Your memory is very good today, Tino."

"I wish it were better. I'd like to talk to him again. Oh! I don't think I've told you this, but he had a cowlick that never went down. Kind of like yours!"

There was that sad smile again. I wondered if I'd said too much. Maybe I was annoying him.

A flash of blue caught my eye. His arm was covered in blue beads. I felt like I knew what those were called…

"How long have we lived together, Alexianos?" I continued gazing at the bracelets.

"After you tried to light some faulty explosives, you and I started to live together. That was five years ago. "

"How come? Were you part of the war?"

He inhaled through his mouth, and his chest shook. What if he had lost someone in the war? I never even thought to ask…

"I wasn't."

"Really? What about the resistance?"

"I was part of that."

"Did you know me from it?" I felt restless, and my feet buzzed with electricity. Something was strange. I kept staring at the blue beads on his wrist, and I didn't understand why. I looked up at his dark eyes. They were so intelligent…almost as though they were lined with black.

"Nazars!"

Alexianos cocked his head quizzically. "Tino?"

"You're wearing those beads on your wrist!" I stood from the couch, eyes wide with amazement.

"O-oh, these are not…you see-"

"Wow, they're just like his! He must have been Armenian, then! Maybe you know him? Do you know any other Armenians in Finland? Probably not. Ah, well. I wonder what he's doing right now."

"I am sure…" Alexianos' voice cracked before he could finish his sentence. He must have been sick, "I am sure he still remembers you every day, Tino."

"He doesn't have to." I shrugged. "He gave me good memories. That's all." I felt like there was something I needed to ask Alexianos, but after a moment's search, I remembered nothing.

That night, I heard the man with the dark hair playing piano in the foyer. The piece he played was sad- a romantic, yearning nocturne. I wondered if he had lost a love, too, and I felt my chest ache with pity. I liked Alexianos, I really did. I wished I could make him happy again.


End file.
